


Bowie & Reed

by CharlemagneGryffis



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Immigrant Alien, Queer Families, Queer Youth, TW: Suicide, Transgender, supporting people in need
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 11:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8531398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlemagneGryffis/pseuds/CharlemagneGryffis
Summary: a time that Kara saves someone by just being Kara.//tw: suicide, inspired by the reactions around america about the cheeto's impending inauguration





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am a panromantic, asexual, cisgender teenage girl. I am from Scotland, with a dual nationality: Scottish-Australian. I personally know one transgender boy, and a non-binary badass. They did not and are not aware of this fanfiction, and until this was posted, no-one from the online transgender community was aware of this.
> 
> I wrote this because of Donald Trump, and the fact that suicide in transgender people around America has skyrocketed in the last few days. I wrote this because Kara Danvers is a ray of sunshine in a dark world, and we are a very lucky fandom to have her and her other fellow characters - and to be very specific on that part, I point at Maggie Sawyer and Alex Danvers.
> 
> I wrote this because while out of all characters we know on television, Kara is the most obvious one to save people, even while not wearing her suit, and she's inspiring like that.
> 
> You don't need a suit to save people.
> 
> You can be kind, and understanding, and even non-understanding, if you're respectful and not belligerent or terrible about it and the circumstances that brought the concept of suicide into existence here. And I know that sometimes none of that even matters (except the last bit), but being a decent human being, being a decent person can sometimes be enough.
> 
> -  
> Please just don't give me any fucking flak for this, bc this is what I'd do if this ever happened in front of me, just like I'd help out if I saw someone tear a hijab off someone's head, or do something equally as sad or horrendous. El mayara.
> 
> El freaking mayara.

You’re out getting groceries. Pizza and ice-cream, to be exact. It won’t take long, and you’ll be easily back at your apartment by the time your take-out arrives, not that Alex can’t open the door…though you’d rather she wouldn’t, as she and Astra are trying not to break down completely in the face of the elections. In truth, you should probably be joining them, fearing over whether Supergirl is about to get shot out of the sky and told to get off this planet.

After getting your purchases, you move towards the checkout, taking a shortcut through the medicine and toiletries aisle, and in the middle you stop.

You pause to choose a deodorant, despite how you don’t even need it, because you aren’t there to actually pick it up – you’re scoping out the young person, maybe only a couple of years younger than you, college-age, whose hoodie is up hiding their eyes, but not their tears.

They’re standing in front of the razors, and they’re wearing a blue, pink and white rubber band around their wrist.

_Rao and Rei._

You don’t know what to do – you’re at a complete loss. You want to help them, but you don’t want to assume, or accidentally bring anything up that might hurt them or upset them even more. You swallow, looking at them in your peripheral before thinking, _what the hell_ , and putting your basket down on the ground and walking a couple of steps towards them. They look up at you.

You bring up all the confidence and kindness in you that you can, holding out your hand. “Do you need a hug?”

The two of you are completely alone in the aisle, but it doesn’t really matter anyway, as the person’s eyes shine even more, and their chin wobbles, before they take a step towards you, and then another, and another, until you’re close enough to wrap your arms around them, holding them as they silently cried. You yourself felt the sting of tears as you shut your eyes behind your glasses, resting your head against their’s.

“You’re not alone.”

“I am, I am…”

“No, you’re not. My name’s Kara.” They give you their name, before you release them reluctantly, taking your reporter pad from your pocket – it’s always there now, and you’re proud of yourself for only using it for reporting, but right now it’s being used for something better. You write your name, number and address on the page, before ripping it off and holding it out to them. They take it, and you place your hand on theirs. “Phone me whenever you need. Text me. Message me. Find me on social media, _whatever you need._ I’ll drop everything to make sure you’re okay. If you can’t, that’s where I live. You’re not alone.”

“Okay,” their voice shakes, and you hug them again, pressing a kiss to their cheek, before wiping it and the other of tears, “I’m not alone.”

“You’re not alone,” you repeat, smiling until you get a wobbly one in return. You hug them again before picking up your groceries, talking about how they’re welcome to come join you for pizza and ice-cream and take-out with your sister and her girlfriend. Their eyes brighten that little more at the confirmation that you aren’t just a one-dimensional white girl trying to help that’ll actually do nothing.

Not that you’re even a proper ‘white girl’, what with your alien-ness, but it’s the not-thought that counts.

“Sure. I don’t have that much money anyway.”

“College loans suck,” you agree, before adding quietly, starting up the aisle with them. “I’d assume you’re saving up for hormone therapy, or something similar, but I really don’t want to be presumptuous or deliberately obtuse.”

They shrug, playing with their wrist-band, smiling a little bit. “No, it’s okay. I’ve still got so much to pay for. I’m that stereotypical broke college kid as well as the stereotypical broke trans trying to save up for meds. I’d like to join you for dinner, if that’s okay.”

“That’s _awesome_ ,” you smile brightly at them, before speaking in Kryptonese. “ _Being yourself is the ultimate objective in life._ ”

The two of you approach the end of the aisle, and your companion looks at you with new eyes.

“Are you from America originally?”

You imagine that your eyes sparkle as you raise a finger to your lips, to say _shh._


End file.
